


Policies and Medicine

by Diary



Series: Victorian Edwardian Westeros Verse [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Anachronistic, Awkwardness, Bechdel Test Pass, Canon Character of Color, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Gay Character, Family, Friendship/Love, Late Night Conversations, Medical, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Politics, Romance, Suffrage Movement, Suffragettes, Work In Progress, Ygritte is Tormund Giantsbane's Daughter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: AU. A few months after the events in Ripper Jane, Stannis is set to resign as Mayor, and elections are happening. WIP.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Game of Thrones.

Sipping the sparkling wine imported from France, Brienne wishes Pod were around. Usually, he’s good at providing enough distractions that she can slip away during parties, but even when he’s not, he’ll can always sneak a book in, and they can covertly look at it together.

Hearing Renly’s laughter, she chances a glance over and feels her face warming.

Then, to her mortification, he turns, catches her eye, and smiles warmly.

Nodding, she raises her glass, takes a sip, and quickly looks away.

Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she lightly sighs before turning. “My lord.”

“My lady,” Renly cheekily replies.

“Don’t start. You know I dislike parties, especially ones thrown for me.”

“If it makes you feel any better, this one is more for your father than you.”

Conceding the point, she offers, “However, this sparkling wine is very good. Thank you for it.”

“It’s called ‘champagne’. I thought this brand would appeal to your tastes. What are you planning to drink on your journey?”

“Our newest submarine has a working stove, and I know how to turn sea water fresh. Crates of tea and coffee have been loaded, and when I need water, I’ll take it up, retrieve what I need from a bucket, and go back down.”

“Technology can be truly amazing, can’t it,” Renly comments. “Plenty of food has been packed as well?”

She nods. “Cans of soup, dried porridges and oats, certain fruits and vegetables, and of course, there should be plenty of sea creatures around.”

Reaching over to squeeze her hand, he stands and, letting out a whistle, dodges her kicks and attempts to pinch. “My lords and ladies, a toast. We all know Lady Brienne of Tarth soon turns twenty-one, and with her share of her family’s fortune released to her, she plans to undergo the daring endeavour of taking to the seas in search of the lost island her ancestors came from for a year. No one is more aware than her, I wager, of how difficult this might prove to be and of how realistically low the odds of success are. Yet, I’ve known Lady Brienne since early childhood, and,” he looks down at her, “my lady, if anyone can do this, it’s you.”

Warmth invades her whole body.

Looking back up, he raises his glass, “And so, a toast to Lady Brienne. Wishing you a happy birthday, my lady, and great success in your endeavour.”

“Happy Birthday to Lady Brienne,” choruses through the room. “May she succeed.”

Winking, Renly takes a sip.

She raises her own glass to him and the room and follows suit.

Sitting back down, he waits for the chatter of the room to resumes before saying, “If you don’t, when you come back, I’ll help you fulfil your end of your deal with your father. I can’t promise I’ll find a man worthy of you, for one may not exist, but I’ll help you find a non-objectionable husband.”

“Thank you,” she says. “And should you ever marry, I’ll attend the wedding and, perhaps, one or two of the celebrations.”

“And you’ll dance with me, too, of course.”

“Do not push your luck.”

“Brienne.”

At the sudden seriousness of his tone, she looks over.

“At my wedding, at least, you and I will share a dance. You’re not going to let certain little shits deny me a dance with one of my closest friends, are you?”

Knowing she’s blushing and hating the fact she’s powerless to stop it, she mumbles, “One dance after your wedding, Lord Renly.”

…

From his place on the ground, Jon looks up at the firecrackers in the sky. Someone living on Tormund’s land is celebrating a birthday, and though Ygritte won’t let him go near the other people, she’s set up a blanket near her cave and has packed a picnic basket for them.

Lying beside him, she shifts closer.

Looking over, he smiles. “Thanks for inviting me.”

She kisses him. “’Course.”

“Oi, lassie,” Tormund calls. “Got another one. Ain’t ya popular tonight?”

Jon tenses until the visitor steps into the light of the street lamps, and curiosity replaces the tenseness.

Podrick Payne has grown some in the last few months, Jon sees, and gotten a bit of gangliness to him, but the lad's still short and plump-faced.

“Right,” Ygritte says. “Nothing illegal, Jon Snow, but stay here. Pod’s come for a present I’ve helped get for Brienne of Tarth. She’ll be one and twenty soon.”

“Alright,” he agrees. Smiling at the lad, he says, “Good to see you again, Podrick.”

Giving a small smile, Pod replies, “You too, D-detective Snow.”

“Extend my best wishes to your mistress.”

“Yes, sir. I will. Thank you.”

It’s good the boy’s starting to lose his stutter, Jon reflects.

…

After the party, Renly goes to the Tyrell estate.

As soon as he’s in Loras’s room, Loras kisses him.

Later, in bed, Loras stretches and wraps against him. “It’s been too long.”

“Yes, it has," Renly agrees. "I’m sorry for not being able to come here straight away. It only seemed polite to stay with the Tarths while I was helping plan the party.”

Making a small noise, Loras inquires, “And how is the would-be lady knight? Should I worry about my place on King Aerys’s kingsguard? I’m sure if they gave up a few of their submarines, he’d allow a woman to join. Mad, he is. Worse, her inheritance might come with some of those blasted machines.”

Renly closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Opening them, he rolls onto his side. “As confusing as it’s always been, it used to be funny, Loras. Now, though, you’re jealous of Brienne the Beauty. Even if I were the rare breed who somehow managed to desire both sexes, which I’m not, do you honestly think for a moment I’d go for someone such as her? Aside from the money or title she offers, do you think any man would?”

There’s silence, and then, Loras says, “You aren’t often two-faced. When it comes to her, you’ve fought and otherwise made men who’ve said things similar to what you’ve said pay. You say this, and then, you spend a week in her house, helping her father plan a party for her.”

“She has a kind soul and a fighter’s heart. And don’t worry, she’d never buy her way into any position.” Sitting up, he strokes Loras’s chest. “When she and I were little, I felt bad for her. I wanted to ease her pain and protect her. Now, I respect her, and I worry about her. How would you like it if I got jealous of all those women who’ve made it no secret how much they fancy you?”

“I’d call you madder than our king,” Loras answers. “I’d die to protect them, but I don’t particularly care about any of their happiness. That much is obvious.”

“I love you,” is Renly’s simple declaration. “And it’d make me happy if we could stop talking about Brienne right now.”

Laughing slightly, Loras nods. Reaching up, he kisses him. “I love you, too.”

…

At breakfast, Margaery says, “I’ve heard elections are starting for your brother’s replacement, Lord Renly. Please, know that he and his daughter are always welcome here.”

“You’re very kind, my lady, but if you think Stannis is resigning at the end of the year to focus on grieving or looking after Shireen’s emotional well-being, you’re mistaken. Stannis is resigning because of his shame. My usually cold, scheming sister-in-law showing genuine compassion and sympathy for Miss Selyse and talking to Stannis was the only reason he bought her a headstone.”

“I still say she didn’t want Robert spending the money,” Loras opines.

“He wouldn’t have had to.”

“No doubt,” Loras says with a soft smile. “But I’m not so sure she realised you already had plans in place.”

“Perhaps, your brother is simply too stoic to understand how to properly-”

“Margaery, really, stop,” Loras says. “Renly’s accurate in his description of his family. It’d be nice if little Shireen did come over, but trust me, none of us want Stannis here.”

“Regardless, if he ever does come, he will be welcome,” she declares.

Renly inclines his head. “As you say, my lady."

“Do you think a progressive or a conservative will take his place?”

“It’s much too soon to tell. I know there’s a large amount of suffragists in the area, and even still unable to vote, they have a lot of sway in the way county policies are dictated. However, even after Lord Stark’s retirement from the bench, the Stark name still holds a lot of popularity. Lord Benjen does have a decent chance.”

“Who are you for, my lord?”

“I disagree with most of Stark’s positions, but he’s sincere in his desire to serve his constituents. He’s rethought his beliefs and policies in the past when it’s been made clear they were wrong or potentially harmful. That whoremonger Littlefinger, however- Pardon the language, my lady.”

“I’ve heard worse from our grandmother,” Margaery cheerfully tells him. “It’s interesting that a man who runs such an establishment has any such chance.”

“I pray he doesn’t. If not for Stark or another suitable candidature running against him, I’d unreservedly throw my support behind Mister Selmy. Honourably resigned from the kingsguard, still close with the crown prince, an intelligent man who’s been around politics almost all his life- Many suffragists believe he’ll help get women the vote.”

“And if someone I knew ran and won, I know he would,” Loras comments.

Margaery looks between them.

“Stannis and Robert both entered politics due to their father. Renly here has a genuine love and understanding for them yet doesn’t. I’ve tried to correct this oversight but to no avail,” Loras explains.

“Politicians have wives, children, and speeches on the sanctity of Christian values, which greatly differ from what I personally believe of God,” Renly replies. Reaching over, he wraps his hand around Loras’s. “They don’t have what we have. They can’t. I’d never give that up.”    

Loras gives him a soft smile, and Margaery smiles at the two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: The medical parts of this fic will come into play in later chapters. On the whole, Ripper Jane didn't have much action. This fic will likely have even less. Basically, the plan for right now is it's going to introduce some new characters, further develop some of the ones from Ripper Jane, and set up certain things for future fics in this verse.


	2. Chapter 2

The arrow misses the target and hits a bale of hay.

Carefully lowering her bow, Missandei sighs. “I’m simply no archer.”

“Hey, you’re doing better,” Ygritte says. “At least, you hit something this time. And archer ain’t just a title given to people who compete. You shot a bow an’ arrow, and in that moment, you’re being a archer. Tell me what felt wrong this time.”

“I don’t know. It simply- went over there rather than there,” Missandei says with a gesture from the bale of hay to the painted target.

“Happens to the best of us. Was it too heavy this time?”

“No. I’ve been doing those exercises every night, and you’re right, it’s made it much easier to hold up and straight.”

“Good. Now, this should be easier for you: When you shoot, think of a reason you want to hit what you’re hitting. Me, I used to imagine the target was people I didn’t like or was cross with. That or an animal I planned to eat.” At Missandei’s wince, she continues, “But yeah, peaceful lass like you, that wouldn’t work.”

Taking the bow, Ygritte says, “Likewise, you can’t be scared with thoughts like that. Few months ago, I saved a gel’s life by shooting someone who’d near killed her. Like hunting or not, that’s how most people survive and feed their families. More than all that, though, shooting don’t have to be about hurting or killing. Loads of archers compete. You’ve seen how happy the little ones are watching me shoot. Look at the target.”

Missandei does.

“It’s only a bit of wood with painting. You can see there’s no one behind it. You want to hit it just because you want to hit it. Here, try again.”

She passes the bow back and hands Missandei another arrow.

The arrow hits the wood but not the target.

Missandei slumps, but Ygritte squeezes her shoulder. “That’s better than you’ve ever done. The problem was, you shifted your foot a little too quickly.” She glances at a nearby sundial. “We’ll work on that some more later, yeah?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

…

Ygritte comes over to where Tormund is talking to Barristan Selmy.

“Ah, here’s my girl,” Tormund says. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

“We won’t be long,” Ygritte says.

Walking away, Tormund replies, “You might be.”

“Miss Giantsbane.”

Shaking her head, Ygritte ignores Selmy’s offered hand. “The men around here are going to vote or not vote for whoever they think best with little influence from us women. And I wouldn’t stop any woman here who wanted to campaign for you, but I won’t be one of them. Down in England, suffragists got their prime minister elected on the promise he’d push for them being able to vote, and now, the law is even more unkind and strangling to women. You caught my father on a good day. Most days, he says the only good politician is- well, best not repeat it, last time one of us made a comment like that, several of us ended up in jail.”

“In jail?” Selmy asks.

She shrugs. “This bobby got it into his head we might actually do more than say the words. In fairness, he was probably right, but that’s a dangerous precedent, throwing people in jail just because ya have a feeling they might.”

“I agree,” Selmy says. “If I don’t have your support, I won’t press for it, Miss Giantsbane. However, I would like to hear your opinions. I’ve read about you in the newspapers, and while I don’t agree with all your points, you do make many sensible points I believe it would behove lawmakers to listen to.”

“Get us the vote,” Ygritte says plainly. “Thing is, I’m not sure I even would vote if I could, but women are always going to be vulnerable and exploited so long as they don’t have real say in the governments they live under. At this point, anything else you do for us is just bandaging.”

He nods. “Thank you, Miss Giantsbane.”

Seeing Missandei walking nearby, she says, “Oh, wait a minute. We have something of an admirer of yours, you might say, here. Missandei!”

Missandei comes over, and seeing Selmy, executes a graceful curtsey.

“Missandei’s family was part of the Underground Railroad that ended up here. Most are dead, a few she doesn’t know what happened to.”

“What you and Prince Rhaegar did means more than I imagine either of you will ever truly realise, sir,” Missandei quietly says.

“We did what was right, Miss Missandei,” Selmy replies. “I’m sorry about your family. I’m glad you made it, at least.”

“Missandei here speaks all different tongues. She only has ta hear a few words before she can start figuring out whole languages,” Ygritte says. Reaching over, she pokes Missandei. “Look up when that’s told. People are liable to think you’re embarrassed.”

“No,” Missandei says. “I simply don’t want to be a braggart.”

“If I may, being proud of one’s accomplishments is often necessary,” Selmy says. “I’ve told Princess Daenerys that before. Can you speak Hungarian, Miss Missandei?”

“Yes, sir. It’s very similar to-”

“And,” Ygritte interjects.

“I’m also skilled at reading and writing most of the languages I can speak.”

“I wonder, could you possibly make some time to help me with some letters? Naturally, I’ll pay you for your time.”

Missandei looks at Ygritte.

“It’s your decision, but as shameful as it is there’s no place for coloured women with a knack for languages in this world, that’s the truth for now. You can keep doing nothing but helping the little ones around here with their schooling, or you can maybe make an actual difference in the larger world. Mister Selmy, you’re welcome to stay, as long you don’t cause in trouble. Missandei, don’t leave with him without talking to one of us first.”

She walks away.

…

Gendry shifts.

A few months ago, he’d rescued a little boy and a woman from the river, and when the boy’s mistress had come to retrieve him, she’d stared intently at Gendry with this queer look on her face until the boy had tugged at her breeches.

Now, two lords, Lannister brothers, are in the forge, and while the dwarf had only done a slight-double take (Gendry imagines he’s more used than Gendry is to intense stares), the other lord is either extremely amused by his appearance or he takes it as some sort of slight.

Unveiling the armour, Gendry offers, “My lords.”

Even now, it’s hard not to stare.

The measurements were a bit unusual, but what truly makes this armour one of the most special things he’s ever created is the material and colour. Until this commission, Gendry had been sure this type of Valyrian material still existing was nothing but a myth.

Yet, it’d been delivered with instructions on how to mould and shape it, how to change the colour, how to test it after it was done, and the unbelievable provision he could keep any leftover material for himself.

Now, lightweight but strong enough to withstand a pistol being fired at it without a dent and a beautiful, watery shade of blue, it stands.

“Hm,” the dwarf thoughtfully says. “You’re right, it does match the lady’s eyes.” Looking at Gendry, he asks, “And all the tests were performed?”

“Yes, my lord,” he answers. “I have the written accounts over here. It went a full day and night in the water with no rusting, fire hasn’t weakened it, and neither has a pistol. It was scratched when I ran a sword over it, but I got the scratch out, and it’s as strong as ever.”

“Very good. And you are sure it can be delivered in three days to the address given? Not before or after?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Most importantly,” the other says, “you will keep quiet about who commissioned it.”

Recongising the fact this isn’t a question, Gendry lowers his eyes and nods. “Yes, my lord. If asked, all I’m to say is an anonymous benefactor.”

“Well, this is more than satisfactory,” the dwarf says. “Thank you for all your work, and enjoy the leftover material. Here’s the rest of your payment.”

Gendry takes the offered pouch and quickly finds himself chasing after the two when he realises it contains much more than the agreed upon price.   


End file.
